


it’s up to you (and it’s up to me)

by gingergenower



Series: a world that we design [1]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: (no slurs), Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Period-Typical Racism, Pining, Romance, Secret Relationship, the greatest showman au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 18:37:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13196154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingergenower/pseuds/gingergenower
Summary: He’s been with this circus for a few years, seeming as much a fixture as the ringmaster; an acrobat, a tightrope walker, a martial artist, he does anything he challenges himself to. He’s a performer, too; striding out into the ring he bows, kissing his fingers and blowing it to the audience, utterly charming and delightful before he’s even began.(She doesn’t pretend they live in a world where they can be together.)





	it’s up to you (and it’s up to me)

**Author's Note:**

> bcos zendaya owns my ass now apparently  
> based mostly on the song [rewrite the stars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gdjR2lvIfJ4), title also taken from it

Patching a hole in one of the strongman’s costumes, Michelle keeps her head down. She’s cross-legged on her usual wooden stool, bent over her work, and the performers pass right by her to go onstage but they don’t notice her. Hands around here are as changeable as the seasons, and that’s all she is. She’s only as valuable as the needlework she taught herself. It doesn’t matter that her fingers bloody and she strains her eyes in candlelight for it, she stitches seams and fixes set pieces and the audience would keep clapping if she wasn’t here.

She hears humming, a perky tune that’s played at some other point in the show. She looks up, and Peter smiles slightly, winking at her as he disappears around the corner.

Ducking back down, she pretends she’s not blushing.

He’s been with this circus for a few years, seeming as much a fixture as the ringmaster; an acrobat, a tightrope walker, a martial artist, he does anything he challenges himself to. He’s a performer, too; striding out into the ring he bows, kissing his fingers and blowing it to the audience, utterly charming and delightful before he’s even began.

(She doesn’t pretend they live in a world where they can be together.)

A month ago, late at night, they were the last two left in the circus. Michelle had a broken bodice in her hands and she didn’t know but he’d stayed under the pretence of practice. Hands tight on hers, laughter bright in her ear, in his arms, she doesn’t remember what they said. She only remembers how she felt.

(She doesn’t pretend they live in a world where they can be together. But if they could-)

The callouses on his hands, the skittered lines of a scar down his shoulder, the curve of his lips; she knows him, more intimately than she knows anyone else and anyone else knows her. She’d take his hand. He’d kiss her forehead. They’d walk together, smiling about something or maybe nothing and she wouldn’t remember their conversations, she’d remember him. She can’t forget him.

She still dreams about that stolen night like it was a lie she told herself. She still cries when she wakes, because they can’t risk being seen together. She doesn’t know what would happen to her if they did.

The audience laughs on the other side of the curtain- sometimes he pretends to trip on the way over to the ladder up to the tightrope.

If she wasn’t here, he would notice. The show would go on, the audience would keep clapping, and he’d remember her. He might even miss her, but she can’t survive like this.

It will never be real. One stolen night can’t keep her warm in winter, freezing to death on the streets. They can’t be together.

Stabbing the needle through the costume, she ignores the tear rolling down her cheek.

None of this is up to them.

***

A purse was taken from a wealthy patron in the audience. Peter’s not sure Michelle even hears about it.

The director, for all the family he was to Peter, is not the man Peter wishes he is. They assure the patron they will find the culprit by the next morning, and if the wretch worked for the circus they will never work in the city again. They mutter among themselves that there’s a pickpocket who has operated the crowds for month- they won’t catch them.

A little way from the others, the director folds his arms. Peter frowns, halfway down the ladder from the trapeze, and follows the director’s eyeline- perched neatly on her stool, Michelle sews.

Peter sees it. He knows what’s going to happen the next day when the patron arrives tomorrow morning, demanding answers. He sees Michelle thrown into the mud on the street.

Resting his forehead against the ladder, he tries to steady his breathing.

That night he tells everyone he needs to practice. They all shout their goodbyes to him, but don’t seem to even notice her in the corner, and she doesn’t look up. He’s not sure she realises they’re alone, so once he’s sure no one will return, he skips across the room to her.

Taking the costume she’s sewing and throwing it aside, he holds her hands and pulls her to standing, and she stumbles into him.

‘Peter-’

‘There’s only us,’ he says, but he’s breathless. She’s never been so close- chest to chest with him, the depth of brown in her eyes captivating, thin skin of her wrists under his hands and long lashes wide open. ‘They’re gone.’

‘Are you sure?’ She’s terrified, and he would never tell her not to be afraid because even if she doesn’t know, they could be on the streets tomorrow. He’s afraid.

‘I- yes. Yes.’

She swallows, steadying herself. Then she nods. ‘Good.’

Keeping her gaze, making sure he’s not overstepping, he raises her hand his lips and kisses the back of it. She doesn’t seem to know what to say, staring at his lips. He knows how she feels- he didn’t realise how much he wanted to _hold_ her. It’s like he’s never been touched before.

She rests her forehead against his, and they breathe each other in- then laugh, the noise bursting out of them. Kissing her cheek and grinning when she blushes, he leads her out into the centre ring.

‘Peter, don’t-’

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ Peter says to empty seats, bowing like the showman and flourishing his arm to her. ‘Your star, Michelle Jones!’

She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Holding his hand out, he waits until she takes it to twirl her around, and she only smiles helplessly and lets him lead her, spinning her into his arms.

‘I don’t have an act.’

‘Everyone’s got an act,’ he says, spinning her back out and bowing with her curtsy. ‘Come on!’

He’s important. He’s never cared for it, only that he has a job as long as he wants it- and he knows what she’ll say to him if he discovers what he’s going to do, but he won’t let her try to change his mind. Her fear has always been rational, but this is the first time he fully understands it.

After the show tomorrow, he might not have any of this.

***

She thinks he might have seen her crying. She doesn’t like to talk to him in front of other people, doesn’t like to suggest they’re anything more than acquaintances, and he seems to understand that but it’s clear he’s seen something and wants a moment’s privacy to speak. Brow furrowed, he watches her with concern.

Mid-way through the show, she walks into one of the storerooms to catch her breath- Peter catches her wrist and presses a finger over her lips, kicking the door shut behind her. They’re cast mostly in darkness, only one candle burning in the room, but she glares at him and yanks herself free.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispers. ‘We could be found.’

‘Something’s wrong.’

‘If they see me with you-’

‘Everyone’s busy,’ he says, taking half a step back, but she doesn’t feel she can breathe any easier. ‘I promise, Michelle.’

He says her name and she remembers it whispered in her ear. Her hands shake; she doesn’t know if it’s with want or fear, and she can’t look at him.

‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

Does he think he’ll want this forever? Does he think either of them can live their whole lives half-starved?  Does he think it will ever be easier?

‘We can’t- I can’t-’ she gestures between them. ‘I can’t.’

He understands all the things she doesn’t say- steps forwards, cups her face and makes her look in his eyes. ‘No.’

‘I’m sorry-’

‘No.’

‘We can’t be together. One night-’ her voice, her heart, cracks ‘-doesn’t change that.’

‘We _are_ together,’ he says, his eyes fierce and bright with grief. ‘I’m not alone when I’m with you, it’s like I never was if you’re nearby, and I _know_ you, I know you understand that, it’s the same for you-’

‘We’re not the same.’ Taking one of his hands from her face, she holds it between them, and even in them dim light they can both see the contrast between the colours of their skin. ‘That’s why we can’t.’

Slowly, she drops his hand, pulls back.

He lets her go- all but her hand. He takes a few deep breaths, forces himself to look her in the eye. She knows she doesn’t want to hear what he’s going to say.

‘It will be ok.’ He’s hoarse with not crying.

She shakes her head and can’t stop the tears, doesn’t know how he can do that. The door shuts quietly behind her.

***

Foot centred carefully on the high wire, thirty feet in the air, Peter pretends to overbalance and the audience gasps. He wonders if he’ll ever do this show again.

He spoke to the director this morning, catching him outside the tent. He seemed to think Peter was going to ask for a pay rise, happy to listen until Peter said Michelle’s name and told him he knew what he was planning.

Peter can’t say he enjoyed being smacked, but he sure did enjoy the look on the director’s face when he pointed out that there will be another circus in town in three weeks. They’d be happy to take on Peter- taking advantage of his popularity in the area- and the extra help in Michelle in he asked them to. Cheek burning, he reminded the director if he left, half the acrobatics routines would fall apart.

He flashes a knowing grin at the audience, holding his arms out and balancing himself again.

The director stared at him, as if he didn’t know Peter at all, so he added that he’d already sent a letter of enquiry to the other circus. They’re in Boston right now, did he know that?

To himself, so Peter didn’t answer, the director muttered that he was foolish and was this worth it for a crush on a girl like _her_ -?

His steps are measured, but he knows this wire so well he isn’t careful. It’s as easy as running across flat ground.

The wealthy patron who had her purse stolen strode towards them, and Peter barely had time to tell the director if he blamed Michelle he would leave with her that day. Pretending to be waiting to continue his conversation, he listened to the director tell her they were still looking into it, but Peter knows that wasn’t the final decision. He might throw her out the next morning just to call Peter’s bluff.

Wire wobbling under him, Peter keeps his composure. He carries on once he’s steady.

The letter was written and sent before the show, but it won’t reach Boston for another week, and he might not hear for a week after that. If they do have to leave in the morning, he’ll ask one of the acrobats to pass on the letter, but he’s not sure what they’ll do in the meantime. They might be able to muddle through on odd jobs here and there, although he didn’t even know a name to address the letter to; the other circus might not even respond.

He’s not sure what the hell he’ll do if they don’t.

Reaching the other platform, Peter accepts the applause, the cheers, and turns back to do it again.

He only risked staying behind with Michelle last night because he needed to know what it would be like. The first time he kissed her was in the dark, the first time they held hands a quick squeeze of the fingers to reassure- he needed the memory of time with her to cling to. Hope makes him brave.

Throwing himself into a forward roll on the wire, he comes back up and salutes a child that screamed in shock. The audience laughs; to them, none of it is real.

***

The morning after Michelle told Peter they couldn’t be together, she has a headache. She left the strongman’s costume half finished the night before, unable to see for crying, and she’s massaging her temples when she goes to pick it up.

A letter, seal broken and addressed to Peter, has been left for her to find. Frowning, she unfolds it and quickly scans the few lines written on the page.

 

_Mr Parker,_

_I said the offer was open; tell Miss Jones she will have work as soon as she arrives._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Director T. Stark_

_P.S. The offer to you is also still open._

 

The forwarding address is the travelling circus that arrived in the city the week before, and there’s a note scrawled underneath the stranger’s words in Peter’s hand- “take this with you”.

Leaving the costume on the stool, she stares around, but Peter’s nowhere in sight. She asks the nearest performer, who looks blankly at her as if she has no idea who Michelle is, but points her towards the rings.

The director’s barking orders at the acrobats, trying out something new, but Peter’s a little way from them. They all see her march up to him, holding the letter out.

‘I don’t understand,’ she says.

He ushers her further away from the rest of them so they can’t hear, but they all watch curiously. ‘You need to go.’

‘This is dated last week. I don’t understand, why did you do this?’

‘I didn’t know how to tell you,’ Peter says, low and fast, ‘but after- it’s easier, now. You have to go. You can’t stay here.’

‘This circus tours. They go all over the country,’ she says, he can’t have wanted her to leave this whole time, ‘there’s a chance we’ll _never_ see each other again.’

He swallows, doesn’t look at her. ‘I know.’

The director shouts about her needing to get out, they’re rehearsing, but she barely hears him. Peter runs a hand through his hair, saying they only need a minute.

‘Even when-’ If this letter is a response, part of a larger conversation, how long has been planning this? ‘No, Peter-’

‘There are more people like you there,’ Peter says, distracted by something over her shoulder. ‘The director, Stark- he promised he’d look after you.’

‘You did this after, you did this after that night-’

‘Yes.’ Peter moves, shoving Michelle behind him. She stumbles, turning to see the director nose to nose with Peter. He’s looking at Peter like he hates him.

‘You said she wouldn’t be a problem.’

‘She isn’t, she’s leaving.’

‘She doesn’t seem to be.’

‘She is.’ Peter grabs her wrist, dragging her back the way she came.

‘No- Peter, I’m not- please, I don’t _understand_ -’

In the doorway, he takes her by the shoulders, staring into her eyes. It hurts when she sees he’s crying again. ‘ _You can’t stay here_. Do you understand that?’

‘I-’ Over his shoulder, she sees the director’s gaze, livid and vicious. ‘What did you do?’

He blinks, then laughs, wiping away his tears. ‘It’s too long a story.’

‘Tell me it.’

‘I’ll write to you.’ They’re being too familiar with each other, attracting stares, but she’s never cared less about it. If the letter’s geniune, she already has another job- he glances past her, starts leading her further towards the exit. ‘Please go.’

‘Tell me what you did.’

‘Did you mean what you said last night?’ he asks, turning on her.

The ache of wanting him, but never being able to have him. It won’t be enough. She stares. ‘…yes.’

‘Then it doesn’t matter.’ He doesn’t look surprised, only helpless. ‘What I did, none of it.’

‘It matters to me-’

‘Are you getting rid of her, or not?’ The director spits the words out, nose flared, only a few feet from her.

Peter jumps between them again, and it occurs to her he doesn’t believe it would stop the director striking out, only that it’ll stop the blows landing on her. ‘I promise, you’ll never see her again.’

Frowning, the director quickly falls back into outrage. ‘I said she could stay-’

‘We both know as soon as the other circus left you were going to throw her out,’ Peter says through gritted teeth. ‘You were going to punish me through her, I’m not _stupid_ -’

Michelle doesn’t know the details and doesn’t need to. He wasn’t trying to send her away, he was trying to protect her, and he’s trying to again with no regard for the mess he leaves himself in. She checks the letter again, rereads the last line. He is stupid.

‘Did you mean what you said last night?’

The director stares, not sure what to do with her when she speaks, but Peter doesn’t even glance at her.

‘All of it.’

Her hand catches his, tight and desperate. ‘Come with me. Please come with me.’ She knows she’s begging; she doesn’t care. She can’t leave without him.

He says nothing, only tightens his fingers around hers and takes a step back, pushing her to leave. Backing up and pulling him with her, she leads him out and he doesn’t take the eyes off the director.

‘-for her?’ he snarls, and Peter shrugs.

‘Yes.’

Michelle doesn’t see what happens, only knows Peter drops her hand and shoves her out of the way. She staggers, but before she can even get her balance back he’s already grabbed her, half running out.

She catches a glimpse of the director, curled up in a pained ball on the floor.

‘Tried to hit me again,’ he says at the question in her eyes, tugging her away from the tent, practically skipping across the mud.

‘-did I miss the first time?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he says, grinning. ‘He was going to kick you out, so I threatened to leave with you if he tried. He didn’t like that.’

She doesn’t know what to say- doesn’t, because they reach the street. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt and wrenching him into the nearest alleyway, she kisses him.

The sunlight’s bright, wind off the Hudson rattling fire escapes, but all she can feel is him. He smiles against her lips, hands tangling in her hair, settling into her grip and he kisses back patiently. She holds him tight, grateful and desperate and not sure she can let go.

‘Thank you,’ she whispers, embracing him and burying her face in his neck. ‘You’re an idiot.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he says, kissing her hair. Then, in hushed tones: ‘does this mean we’re- _together_?’

She glances at the letter over his shoulder. ‘No, I’m using you for your connections to Director Stark.’

Pulling back and narrowing his eyes at her, he tries not to smile. ‘We’re together.’

‘Oh, are we?’

‘I’ve decided.’ He kisses her again, softly. ‘Come on.’

He offers his hand, fingers wiggling, but she doesn’t take it. She doesn’t want to move. She can’t leave this moment behind.

‘What’s wrong?’

She takes a deep breath, forces herself to look him in the eye. ‘It hurts being near you and not being able to- look at you, laugh with you, anything. I don’t know how I can do it again.’

‘I wish I had his first letter to show you.’ When she frowns, he points at the parchment in her hand. ‘He… well, he asked why we would both need new jobs, and when I explained about- you, your situation, he just assumed we were together. Wrote something about how as long as you could thread a needle and I could do a forward roll he doesn’t care what we do in our spare time.’

She raises an eyebrow, and he shrugs, holds his hand out again.

‘It can’t be worse than where we’ve been.’

‘That’s not a comfort,’ she says, taking his hand.

‘We’ll be together?’

‘Neither is that.’

Laughing, he kisses her hand. ‘It is to me.’

The night they spent together at the circus, he took her up to the high wire. He never let go of her hands, walking backwards a few steps and guiding her on. She was barely off the platform, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him because that meant looking down, but once they were back to safety she grabbed him in a hug and squealed, buzzing with height and _him_.

Every moment in his arms feels like that. She didn’t know she could be this happy; she lets him lead her.

**Author's Note:**

> also, zendaya and zac were the best part of The Greatest Showman. fight me.


End file.
